


A Trick Of The Light

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Firefly, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-22
Updated: 2010-07-22
Packaged: 2017-10-10 18:13:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/102624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn't know how he got to the Academy. But when he meets River Tam, he doesn't care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Trick Of The Light

Dean thinks it's a trick when he first wakes, something designed to make him break. It's a new thing for Hell, but they do invent all sorts of new tortures at any given moment. He can't say this isn't an inventive one.

The girl has long dark hair, and she's dressed in some kind of blue tunic and leggings. There are bloody marks on her arms and legs, looking like chafe marks from restraints, and there is a single bloddy hole in the very center of her forehead. If he looks closer, and he does, there are similar holes around her scalp, merely hidden by her hair. She is lying on her side, eyelids twitching as she dreams. Her hands look delicate, and the high arch to her feet look like a dancer's. He can imagine her in a waltz, gracefully moving in time with music he can't hear.

Her eyes snap open, and her mouth opens in a scream she can't quite make. Dean holds his hands up in a defensive gesture, a sign that he's harmless and won't hurt her. "Do you know where we are?" he asks clearly, not sure if she's even awake yet. She looks vaguely Asian, likely mixed descent, but all he knows is English and Spanish curse words, so that won't be of any help if she doesn't understand him.

She pulls herself up to a sitting position, looking like a weak, lost kitten. "We're in the Academy. What program were you in?" she asks, eyes flat and empty. "What lies did they tell you?"

Dean blinks and doesn't know how to answer her. "I can't remember," he lies, then holds out a hand. "I'm Dean."

"River," she says, and reaches out for his hand. "I'm supposed to study physics. They said I could dance."

Her voice is filled with heartbreak, and Dean pulls her in close. She cries, clutching at the shirt he had been wearing when he was pulled down into Hell. Somehow it looks just the same, as if it hadn't been burned or torn or shredded from his flesh. They talk, and River tells him about ballet and the stars and the dreams of research and academia that she once had. Dean tells her about Sam and ghosts and demons and how to load a shotgun properly so that the rock salt shells don't break apart. He can tell she thinks he's pulling her leg, but she smiles in all the right places and she's stopped crying, so that has to count for something.

When she feels stronger, she gets to her feet and apologizes for not having proper slippers to dance for him. But Dean waves it off, telling her that her feet are beautiful as they are, more than strong enough for what she wants to do. A pleased flush moves through her cheeks as she bites her lip, and Dean finds himself wanting to kiss them. He rolls to his feet and holds her close, and her eyes are so wide, so innocent. A kiss from him would mark her forever, would burn away whatever remnants of her soul that the Academy hadn't tainted yet.

She stands on her tiptoes and kisses him first, and Dean's resolve comes undone.

He kisses her, his arms around her shoulders and his tongue in her mouth. She holds him close, on tiptoe still, trembling in his embrace. Dean guides her down to the floor and pulls off the tunic, exposing her pert little dancer's breasts. River looks shy, but he leans forward and worships them with his mouth and fingers, hearing her high gasps and stifled moans. Her fingers twine in his hair, pulling sharply as she arches back, her head nearly hitting the floor. She comes just from his mouth and fingers on her breasts, and suddenly Dean wants to make her scream. He sheds his clothes, mouth on her as much as possible, and River shimmies out of the leggings. He touches gently at first, rather like when he was first creating his own shells or cleaning out guns as a boy. Gentle, too gentle, as if she would shatter with too much pressure.

River's limbs are long and lithe, a dancer's build and grace, and she is flexible as all hell. She bends to give him access to all her secret places, and she tastes like honey on his tongue. River shoves a fist in her mouth to muffle the sound, to keep the guards from showing up too soon. Dean laves at her, traces her folds with his fingertips and then slips one inside. River makes a keening sound, high and needy and wonderful to hear, and Dean grins against her mound. He moves according to the sounds she makes; when she sounds ready to fall apart in his hands, he withdraws and licks his lips clean. River whimpers, reaching for him. "Dean," she whispers, eyes glazed with need. "Please, Dean," she says as she reaches for him. She looks like she isn't sure what should happen next.

But Dean takes her hand and runs it along his erect cock, slowly setting a rhythm for her. She picks up on it quickly; he suspected she had to be crazy smart to be interested in physics, so he didn't doubt that she would be able to do this. He kneels over her so that he can lick her while she runs her hands along his length, and he listens to the sound of her breath shatter in her chest. He shifts position then, poised above her splayed limbs. "River," he grunts as he pushes inside of her. She lets out a gusty sigh of pleasure as he does this, and she moves to counter each thrust. She's slippery and warm around him, and it's almost as if they were dancing. He catches hold of her thigh and lifts that leg up, throwing her leg over his shoulder. River cries out as he thrusts in deep, back arching and her blue clothes fisting in her hands. "Beautiful," he sighs, feeling her clench down hard around him. "Fuck, yes, that," he gasps out, fingers tight on her hip and thigh.

She's the only thing he can feel, the only thing he _wants_ to feel. She comes again, milking him until he comes inside of her with a triumphant shout.

And when he opens his eyes, it isn't River beneath him at all. It's a corpse in an advanced state of decay, and there are demons at his back, curling their talons into his shoulders as they laugh and laugh and _laugh_ at everything they've done to him, everything they still plan to do.

Dean curls in the corner of his cell and cries, helplessly trying to keep from losing the image of warm brown eyes and long black hair streaming across the floor.


End file.
